


Fall, And I Will Catch You

by JulietsEmoPhase



Series: Falling [1]
Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Alternate Universe - Hogwarts, Angst with a Happy Ending, Body Image, Boys Kissing, Chubby Draco, Comfort, Cuddling & Snuggling, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, First Kiss, Fluff, Fluff and Angst, Happy Ending, Hogwarts, Hogwarts Eighth Year, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, No Smut, Post-War, Suicidal Thoughts
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-04-29
Updated: 2016-04-29
Packaged: 2018-06-05 05:59:02
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 10,060
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6692356
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/JulietsEmoPhase/pseuds/JulietsEmoPhase
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A cruel remark about his recent weight gain threatens to push Draco over the edge. Harry however is determined to pick up the pieces and put him back together. </p><p>"Falling" Part 1/3.  Hogwarts Eighth Year, non-epilogue compliant, no smut.  Hurt/Comfort.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Fall, And I Will Catch You

**Author's Note:**

  * For [indigoprinceofslytherin](https://archiveofourown.org/users/indigoprinceofslytherin/gifts).



> This is a belated birthday present for my lovely friend Indigo (@indigoprinceofslytherin). They gave me the most gorgeous prompts when I asked if there was anything in particular they wanted for their gift. I sort of got lost in writing this, and it broke my heart a little (but in the best kind of way!) 
> 
> Warnings for body issues, self esteem, depression and suicidal thoughts. Hurt/Comfort with a massive emphasis on the comfort: I 100% promise it has a happy ending! Eighth Year fic featuring Chubby!Draco and Lovely!Harry.

 

Fall, And I Will Catch You

  

   Everything was different, and yet everything was the same.

   It was the familiarity that had drawn Harry back to finish his final year at Hogwarts, that need to reassure himself that the world was still there after all the horror of the war.  The many, many differences ensured he would never forget all that had happened, all that had been lost, but there were consistencies too that had calmed and anchored him back to a life no longer filled with danger and despair. 

   The library was one such constant.  Barely touched during the battle, its restoration had left it looking more or less how it had always done during the six years Hermione had spent dragging him and Ron along to it, convinced it would be the answer to any and all their earthly problems.  Right now, all Harry needed an answer to was a particularly tricky potions assignment, and the mundanity of the task was akin to a warm hand rubbing tired and knotted muscles.

   He sighed contentedly and moved along the aisle, fingertips gracing along the old spines.  He didn’t have to be there, he could have moved straight on to Auror training according to Gawain Robards, head of the division over at the Ministry.  He could have asked for whatever he’d wanted after defeating Voldemort.

   But Harry had wanted time, and space, and so it was only natural he’d gravitated to the only place he’d ever considered home, to the walls that had always done their best to protect him since he’d been eleven years old.  He needed time to grieve and to grow, he needed space to discover exactly _who he was_ without the threat of death looming over his head. 

   It hadn’t been easy, but now they were nearing the start of spring, enough months seemed to have passed that people weren’t always coming to him for support, looking to him to heal their raw wounds or stave off the nightmares.  With blossom on the trees and lingering warmth in the gradually lengthening days, hope was drifting through the air, and people, Harry included, were finally feeling brave enough to look towards the future. 

   Not everyone of course, Harry reminded himself as he rounded the corner into a new aisle and stopped at the sight of Draco Malfoy stood several feet away.  He had a book cradled in the crook of his arm, and he was pouring all his attention down onto the page, blond hair falling in a soft curtain that hid his face. 

   Another constant for Harry had been the way he could always rely on how his attention would be drawn to his former Slytherin rival, whether consciously or not.  They had been pulled together by the end of the war, having saved each other’s lives.  If they’d been inexplicably bonded before, it had become an almost tangible connection after. 

   Harry hadn’t been able to properly explain to his friends his fierce need to speak on behalf of both Draco and his mother at their trials, but he had done so without question.  He had made it inescapably clear that without the two Malfoys’ protective lies, he would have died twice over, and he’d experienced a level of relief that had taken him by surprise when they had received their lenient sentences. 

   Narcissa had been put under house arrest for a year, but it was Harry’s understanding she had been hell-bent on nothing else but restoring her home after Voldemort’s reign there in any case.  Seeing as she was allowed visitors and the freedom of the grounds closest to the Manor, Harry had felt she had emerged relatively unscathed. 

   Draco’s parole had involved completing his education, where Harry suspected the teachers could keep a watchful eye on him.  If they had been expecting his old swagger though, they would have been rather disappointed.  Harry hadn’t been sure what to expect if he was honest.  He had swapped only a few words with him after the trial, when he had sought him out to return his borrowed wand, but Draco had been understandably shocked and subdued, unable to give much of an indication of what was going on behind those silvery-grey eyes. 

   Once back at school, it had been easy for Harry to fall back into old patterns, to find his gaze restlessly searching for a flash of blond hair in the dining hall, or to strain to catch his particular drawl whilst walking the corridors. 

   But Draco had been the only Slytherin to return.  Gone was the gaggle of admirers and the henchmen lurking by his side, instead was a young man who seemed to take up as little space as possible, who was willing to answer question in lessons, but otherwise spoke to no one, concentrating solely on his studies.  At first, Harry noticed this in a passive way; Draco was there, but Draco was not really there.  He wasn’t causing trouble though, so as long as he went about his business there wasn’t really much for Harry to worry about.

   But then he and Ginny had drifted naturally apart, and with Ron and Hermione wrapped up in one another, the corner of his mind that had always harboured his interest in Draco had grown slowly but steadily. 

   They still didn’t talk much – Draco didn’t talk to anyone – but over the months he had become ‘Draco’ in Harry’s mind, no longer Malfoy, and Harry had gone out of his way to say hello every now and again.  They’d even worked together in a class or two, and Harry had wished him a _Merry Christmas_ before they’d departed for the break in December. 

   It was this time away that had afforded him a fresh perspective on his former rival when they’d returned in January.  He was struck by how much Draco, like the school, was the same, but different.  It was the kind of change that crept up, but after almost three weeks apart, Harry found he was seeing Draco in a whole new light. 

   Unlike his boisterous nature, which had shrunk as far as it could go, Draco himself had grown, much like the crevice of Harry’s mind dedicated to knowing everything about him.  He’d gotten taller, his shoulders broader, his hair longer.  But the change that struck Harry the most was how he’d filled out as a whole.  Gone were the angular limbs and sharp cut of his face, and in their place was a softer, fuller man who Harry was mildly horrified to admit he longed to wrap his arms around. 

   It was this thought that predictably reared as Harry saw Draco in the library, and he stilled as Draco lifted his head to see who had joined him.  Harry refused to let his strange feelings get the better of him though, so he merely smiled and moved to inspect the section of books he’d been heading towards before.  Draco rewarded him with a smile back, and Harry wondered briefly if it was normal for his insides to flutter like that? 

   He shook his head and busied himself looking for a particular text on rare fungi, which he would imagine was enough to quash any sentiments of longing, if there had even been any there to start with.  Or so he thought. 

   As Eighth Years, they’d had many new freedoms allowed to them to emphasise the fact that they were adults who (aside from Draco) were there at the school of their own free will.  They shared a common room and took their lessons as a year group, house pride not forgotten, but left in the past as they moved forward with their lives in a Voldemort-free world.  They didn’t have to obey curfews and were allowed off grounds any time they wanted, as long as they informed a member of staff. 

   Harry’s favourite change though, was the lack of school uniform.  They had been informed that they could dress however made them comfortable, and many of the year had opted for a wardrobe of largely Muggle clothing.  Surprisingly, Draco Malfoy included. 

   He was currently clad in a pair of jeans and a hooded jumper that didn’t hide his body the way his school robes would have done, and Harry couldn’t help but glance over and appreciate the fullness of his legs and backside with the denim clinging resolutely to them.  Not for the first time, he wondered what this said about his sexuality, but as he was doggedly not worrying about anything at present that didn’t involve his NEWTs, he just relaxed and enjoyed the surreptitious glimpses.  

   The two of them were content in their browsing for a few minutes, until the rustling of clothes and scuffing of shoes alerted them that someone, maybe two someones, had moved into the aisle behind the books they were studying. 

   “-Blaise Zabini though,” one of the voices was saying in hushed tones, a young girl by the sounds of it. 

   “Oh yeah,” another girl whispered back.  “Of course, he was sickeningly hot, I was gutted he never came back.  But I still say Harry’s the best.”

   He cringed visibly at the mention of his name, and resisted the urge to look over at Draco, despite the fact they were obviously talking about one of his best friends.  (Or was it former best friend now?)

   The first girl clicked her tongue.  “Well _obviously,”_ she said.  “That goes without saying, he’s a hero and I heard he’s still single after Ginny Weasley dumped him.”

   Harry bristled at that.  It had been perfectly mutual, _thank you very much._   He and Ginny were actually very good friends. 

   “Neville Longbottom then,” the second girl countered.

   “Ooh yeah,” the first girl said, getting a bit too excited before remembering to lower her voice lest they risk the wrath of Madam Pince.  “When did he get so gorgeous?  I’m telling you, it’s the whole hero thing.”

   “Hmm,” said the second girl, and there was a merciful pause as they shuffled a couple of books around.  Harry sort of wanted to bolt.  He hadn’t meant to eavesdrop and this was just plain embarrassing in front of Draco, who, he’d established with a quick glance, was still there. 

  “Justin Finch-Fletchley,” the first girl prompted after another minute or so, but her giggle suggested she wasn’t entirely serious. 

   “Eww!” girl number two hissed unkindly.  Harry wasn’t exactly best buddies with Justin, but he was hardly repulsive, and their derision didn’t sit well with him.  “Too much chin!”  They giggled as quietly as they could for another few moments.  “But how about Terry Boot?” the girl continued once they’d got their breath back.

   “Really?” the first girl said sceptically.  “He sort of looks like he needs a wash-”

   “It’s called _grunge.”_

   “-and,” the first girl carried on.  “I heard he’s got a _tattoo?”_

   The second girl made a scornful noise.  “Yeah but it’s _cool,_ it’s not like we’re talking about Draco Malfoy here.”

   Harry froze, horror flooding his system.

   The first girl tittered.  “Urgh, what happened to him?” she complained.  “At least before he could pull off that fugly Dark Mark because he was hot.”

   “It was sort of an emo hot, wasn’t it?” the other girl agreed.

   _“Now,”_ the first girl said with emphasis.  “He’s just a pudgy loser.  It’s tragic.”

   Harry couldn’t help himself, he turned as if in slow motion to see Draco rooted to the spot.  His face was slacken, and he was staring down at his left arm like it was on fire.   But Harry’s movement startled him back to his senses, and in a flash the book he’d been holding was thrust back into the stacks and he took off like the devil was on his heels.

   “Wait!” Harry tried, but he was already gone.

   He practically felt the two girls seize up on the other side of the bookcase.

   Anger raced through Harry’s veins, and before he could properly consider what he was doing he found himself marching around the corner to confront them.

   Two Ravenclaws met him with wide eyes.  Harry guessed they were perhaps Fourth Years, and he was not moved by how they practically melted at the sight of him.  “Oh, hi Harry,” one of them breathed, the first girl he figured, but he didn’t really care.  She clung to her friend like she might swoon.  “How’s it going?”

   “It was going fine,” he ground out between clenched teeth.  “Until I had to overhear that disgusting display of objectification.”

   The two girls’ faces drained of all colour.

   “You heard that?” the second one squeaked. 

   The first one tried to laugh.  “We were just having some fun,” she tried to say lightly, but she was looking up at Harry like she might be sick. 

   “What you were doing,” Harry said, a little more heated than was perhaps strictly necessary.  “Was ridiculing a survivor of a war.”

   The second girl’s mouth opened and closed, but the first one managed to rally herself a little.  “Do you mean Malfoy?  He was a _Death Eater,”_ she spat.  “We’ve all seen his mark!”

   “He may have been on the wrong side,” Harry found himself saying, probably loud enough to get kicked out any moment now.  “But he saved my life.  I suggest, in the future, you restrain yourselves from idly gossiping about things you have absolutely _no_ understanding of.” 

   With that, he turned sharply on his heel and stormed straight towards the exit of the library. 

   He was so angry his ears were ringing, and really, he knew he’d been growing a little fond of Draco, but he never would have predicted reacting so strongly to hearing him insulted, not in a hundred years.  He was almost dizzy with it, and he had to lean against the wall of the corridor as he took a few deep breaths.  He probably shouldn’t have shouted at those girls, but he couldn’t honestly say he regretted it. 

   Once he’d got his wits about him again he thought to look left and right, but of course Draco was long gone.  He growled in frustration.  He had his last class of the day to get to, and he couldn’t afford to miss Transfiguration so he’d have to hope Draco was there too, and they could maybe talk afterwards.

   Draco was not there. 

   Nor was he at dinner.  Harry barely stayed long enough to shove some shepherd’s pie down his throat, then despite his friends’ protests announced he had things to do.

   He shot a look at the Ravenclaw table as he walked out, and was pleased to see two figures in particular shrink away from him.  He knew they were just having fun, he _knew_ it hadn’t really meant anything, but Draco was withdrawn enough as it was, and Harry was starting to panic that this would tip him over the edge, whatever that might mean. 

   He practically ran back to the Eighth Year dorms, and wasted no time in getting to Draco’s door (because, _yes,_ apparently he knew _exactly_ where that was).  He banged on it a few times and called out, then decided to throw caution to the wind and tried the handle to see if it was locked.  It wasn’t.

   “Draco?” he called out tentatively.  “Are you in here?”

   He crept over the threshold and took a quick look around the room, dim in the evening light filtering through the curtains.  Nothing.  He guessed Draco hadn’t been back here since leaving the library, as his bed was still perfectly made and nothing seemed out of place on his desk or shelves.  After that haunted look he’d given Harry, he would have expected at least a few things thrown or a few dents punched into the pillows. 

   He sighed, he resigned himself to falling back on old habits. 

   He’d been really good, he had.  He’d hardly used the Marauder’s Map all year, especially not to look for Draco like he’d become so accustomed to doing in their Sixth Year.  But he got the feeling Draco needed help, and if he needed to resort to a little stalking to do that, then so be it. 

   The map was at the bottom of his trunk where he’d left it, and he spent the next few minutes combing it for any sign of the tiny pair of feet that read ‘Draco Malfoy’.  Just when he’d made up his mind he must have disappeared off to the Room of Requirement again, he spied it.  All alone, Draco’s dot was not moving, so Harry didn’t even pause to grab his Invisibility Cloak, he just folded the map up as he broke into a sprint, and hurtled back out into the corridors, focused on his destination. 

   It didn’t take him all that long until he was standing in front of the large painting of the fruit bowl, and after he’d taken a moment to catch his breath, he tickled the pear to let him into the school kitchens. 

   The door swung open to reveal a short entranceway that lead into the warren of rooms that linked together to make up the kitchens.  Harry was accosted by wafts of hot, buttery mash, stewing meat, fresh vegetables and a sweet tang that he guessed was a kind of citrusy desert.  It might have been enough to make him hungry again, if his insides weren’t twisted with worry. 

   “Harry Potter?”

   He looked down to see that a house-elf, small even by usual standards, had appeared at his feet.  “Hello,” he said with a smile.

   “Hello,” she said cautiously.  “Is Harry Potter wanting something to eat?  Dinella will be happy to get him anything he wants.”

   “Oh, no thanks,” he said, hoping he wouldn’t offend her as his eyes drifted over her and into the bustling kitchen.  “I was actually looking for my friend, I think he’s here?”

   The little elf screwed up her fists in excitement.  “Has Harry Potter come to help Draco Malfoy?” she asked in awestruck tones.

   He blinked down at her, surprised by her enthusiasm.  “Um, yes,” he said.  “Is he here then, can you take me to him?”

   Dinella the elf bobbed on her feet a couple of times before grabbing two of Harry’s fingers with her whole tiny hand.  “Of course,” she said, tugging him inside and allowing the painting to swing shut behind them.  “It would be Dinella’s great pleasure, oh she hopes Harry Potter can help, Draco Malfoy is always sad when he visits his little elves, but tonight we cannot cheer him up _at all._   He is accepting no raspberry sponge cake or hot treacle tart, not even with _custard._   He is not even drinking Burkle’s special hot chocolate, we is quite despairing of what to do Harry Potter!”

   She hurried him through various work stations all being manned by elves busy working on that evening’s dinner as well as items for tomorrow’s breakfast.  “Hang on,” Harry said.  “Do you mean he comes here often?”

   “Almost every night,” Dinella chirped fondly.  “Draco Malfoy reads his books and does his schoolwork and when he is happy again even talks a bit with us elves.  Draco Malfoy is nice and kind and always says lovely things about the food we is giving him.  But tonight it isn’t working, we is not making Draco Malfoy any better.”  She sniffed, genuinely upset.  “Can Harry Potter help?”

   Was she talking about the same Draco?  Harry knew he’d been nurturing quite a soft spot for his old rival, and possibly even a bit of a crush, but had he really changed so much he was being courteous to house-elves?  He didn’t get time to dwell on the prospect though. 

   They abruptly came to a halt facing a shadowy corner, and there was Draco, sat on the floor with his knees drawn up to his chest, hands gripping tightly to his legs, face buried in the gap between his arms and sobs wracking through his body like he was about to break apart. 

   “Oh,” said Harry, a lump forming in his throat.  “Yes Dinella, I’ll help…I’ll try and help.” 

   There was a loose ring of elves hovering around Draco, all holding plates and bowls and mugs containing sweet offerings that they were obviously trying to tempt him out of his misery with, but Harry was pretty certain he wasn’t even aware they were there.

   He nodded to them as he stepped closer, and they scuttled backwards to give him room.  Little Dinella gave him a tentative thumbs up as he sat carefully down, and with a signal to her she and all the other elves vanished.

   “Hey,” said Harry softly as he settled next to Draco.  “Um, Draco, it’s Harry are you…”  Of course he wasn’t alright, what a stupid thing to ask.  Harry just looked awkwardly at him for a moment or two, until he rationalised that the only thing to be done was to reach out.  “Draco?” he said, resting his hand on his back.  “Hey, it’s okay.” 

   Draco folded into him, letting his legs drop and pressing his dripping face into Harry’s chest, slinging his arm over his waist.

   Harry froze, stunned, looking down at the man who had practically fallen into his lap.  He had braced himself for a fight, for Draco to tell him to sod off, but he realised maybe he was too far gone in his grief to put up any kind of resistance.  He was just clinging to the first offer of kindness that had come his way. 

   It only took him a moment to regain his senses, before he pulled Draco closer to him and rubbed his back.  “Shh, it’s okay,” he said again, throwing himself into his mission to comfort his former rival.  “I’m not going anywhere, I’m here.  It’s okay.”

   It felt somehow natural to be there, to hold Draco like he would any of his other friends.  Maybe Harry needed to be a bit more honest with himself how deep his new attachment for him really ran, how the way he’d been looking at him hadn’t just been out of curiosity, or his need to defend him against those girls earlier hadn’t simply been a sense of duty. 

   He cared about Draco.  Seeing him suffering like this was causing him a lacerating pain in his chest, and he was struck by the realisation that he’d do whatever it took to make it stop. 

   He almost worried what on earth that meant, but he decided this moment wasn’t about him, it was about Draco and quelling his anguish.  Harry wasn’t the best at sorting through feelings, let alone talking about them, but even he could guess this probably went further than a couple of girls not thinking he was attractive.  He had obviously been struggling for a long time, all on his own these past several months, and Harry wished he’d maybe said something sooner. 

   He wasn’t sure how much time passed, but he didn’t feel the need to look at his watch.  He just rubbed Draco’s back and made soothing noises, biting his lip in an attempt not to let his sadness get the better of him too.  Yes, Draco had done some terrible things, and he had definitely been on the wrong side of the war, but none of that seemed to justify the heart-breaking level of hurt and pain he was witnessing.  This just seemed cruel.

   Draco shook like he was under the onslaught of a blizzard, like a coldness had seeped so far into his bones he feared it might never leave.  He choked down shallow gasps of air and made keening noises at the back of his throat.  He was broken and ragged and it was all Harry could do to keep hold of him, to rest his cheek on his head and grip tightly against the soft material of his jumper.  “I’ve got you,” he mumbled again.

   Harry wondered when was the last time someone had actually held him, had pulled him into a hug and made him feel worthwhile.  Narcissa Malfoy, as much as Harry had come to respect her, didn’t seem a touchy-feely sort of mother, not like Molly Weasley, who was always yanking one child or another close enough to plant a kiss on the top of their head. 

   Who else might have hugged Draco?  He was always close with Pansy Parkinson; Harry remembered how he would lay his head in her lap and have her stroke his hair.  She hadn’t come back to Hogwarts though, the last he’d heard she’d moved to Italy with her family, so had anyone shown him affection since then, since the summer?  Draco, like Harry, Ron and Hermione had not been present at all during their Seventh Year, so it might have been even longer than that that he’d been denied any real, human contact. 

   Harry rocked them gently back and forth.  “Shh, it’s okay,” he said, wondering if Draco was calming at all, or if Harry was just getting used to his crying.  Thinking of Pansy, he carefully trailed his fingers against the back of Draco’s head, feeling the fine hairs tickling the sensitive pads.  “I’m here, it’s okay.”

   He knew what it was like not to be touched, how it felt to be shunned, to feel so wholly unloved.  His childhood had been utterly devoid of the daily reminders he’d come to rely on to assure himself that he was wanted, that he was important.  The Dursleys had made sure of that.  How would he have coped without Hermione’s hugs, Ron’s playful shoves, Molly’s kisses, Hagrid’s pats on the back? 

   “I’ve got you.”

   Draco hiccupped and after a while, the sobs became less frantic.  Harry felt a knot unwind slightly in him as he appeared to start breathing a little more regularly again, though he still showed no signs of moving away.  Harry responded by continuing his ministrations, rubbing his back and stroking his hair.  He even went so far as to rest his cheek against Draco’s head again, inhaling his shampoo as he murmured words of support. 

   If he had ever been asking for a punch, he figured this was the moment.  But the spell between them held, and as some of the tension gradually ebbed out of Draco’s body, the more he seemed to melt into Harry’s embrace.  It was a comforting feeling, even if it wasn’t under the best of circumstances. 

   Out of nowhere, Dinella materialized, holding out a handkerchief, which Harry took as he mouthed a silent “thank you” to her before she vanished once more.  Gently, he laid his hand on top of the one Draco was currently gripping a fistful of his t-shirt with, and rubbed his thumb carefully against the knuckle.  “Here,” he said softly.

   Draco’s breath shuddered, and he seemed to consider the hanky before he took it.  But eventually he did, blowing his nose loudly and mopping up his red-rimmed eyes.  “Why are you here?” he croaked tiredly, face still nuzzled protectively into Harry’s chest.

   Harry stroked his hair, becoming bolder in the lack of Draco’s rejection.  “I was worried about you,” he murmured.  He was well aware that at any second Draco could regain his senses and jerk away, berating Harry for getting so close to him and recoiling from his moment of vulnerability, but until then it felt right to keep holding him.

   “Why?” Draco asked again.  “Why you?”

   Harry shrugged a little awkwardly, wondering if that punch was coming.  Why _was_ he there, comforting another guy like this?  It was pretty intimate he had to admit, but as odd as it should have been, he found he was in no hurry to pull away, and Draco was still latched resolutely on to him.  “You seemed upset, after what those girls said.”

   He felt Draco cringe against him.  “Of course you were there to hear that,” he said miserably.  “Well what do you care, they didn’t say anything that wasn’t true?”

   “Draco,” Harry admonished.  “They were completely out of line.”

   Draco finally raised his head, only to shake it in disgust.  “I _am_ a fat loser,” he said defiantly.  His cheeks were blotted with pink spots and his whole body was trembling ever so slightly.  “I’m a traitor and a murderer and I should just do everyone a favour and _end_ it.”  He was crying again, shrinking against Harry’s side, his jaw clenched with stress as he shook.  “It’s not like anyone would _miss_ me!”

   Harry pulled him into another hug, this time with Draco’s forehead pressed against the crook of his neck.  He managed to get both arms around his back, and he squeezed him tightly.  _“I’d_ miss you,” he said equally definitely.  He was a little stunned at how true that was, and how his body physically flinched at the mere idea of Draco hurting himself, or going so far as to take his own life.  The world, he decided, would be a lot poorer if it lost Draco Malfoy. 

   He scoffed in his arms.  “Don’t be stupid Potter,” he mumbled, but it wasn’t said viciously.  “I don’t need your pity.”    

   “It’s not pity Draco,” Harry sighed, and risked stoking his baby-fine hair again.  It was so soft, and Harry was finding it quite hypnotic carding his fingers through the strands.  “I’ve gotten pretty used to having you around, I actually think I quite like it now.”  He bit his lip, letting the words hang.  “It’s that weird?” 

   Draco just breathed shakily in and out for a few minutes.  “Why would you like having me around?” he asked eventually, his words so quiet Harry almost missed them.  “I’m nothing.”

   “You’re clever,” Harry replied instantly, not liking the way his throat contracted at Draco’s statement that he wasn’t worth anything.  “And now you’re not being an arse to people or showing off all the time-” that at least got a self-deprecating chuckle “-you’re actually quite thoughtful from what I’ve seen.”

   “You’ve only seen me in lessons,” Draco protested.  He sounded bone-weary. 

   Harry nodded his head against where it was resting on top of Draco’s.  “You’re bright, you ask good questions and give good answers, Hermione said so but even I was able to see that.  And,” he said, risking another gentle run of his fingertips down the back of Draco’s neck.  “You’re not mean with what you know.  You share, I saw you lend Hannah Abbot your Charms notes the other day.  I think, without worrying about people being around to judge you now, you’re actually quite generous.”

   Draco let out a huff of air that sounded like he disagreed, but he didn’t actually say anything. 

   “That house-elf Dinella said you come here a lot,” Harry probed tentatively.  Draco sighed, and then gave a little nod that bobbed Harry’s chin.

   “It’s quiet,” he said.  “They leave me in peace.  It’s easy to make them happy, you just eat what they give you and then you’re their best friend.”  He rubbed his eyes with the heal of his hand and let out a frustrated growl.  “But even that back-fired, didn’t it?  It’s turned me into a tub of lard.”

   “Hey,” said Harry sternly.  “That’s rubbish, don’t talk like that.”

   Draco sighed, like Harry was extremely stupid.  It was kind of a relief to feel a little bit of his old personality rear up.  “You heard those girls; at least before I was hot.  Now I’m just _pudgy._ ”  Harry felt him sneer against his neck and shudder as his tears threatened to spring forth again. 

   “Um,” said Harry, not sure if he was going to regret this, but he figured Draco had already been clinging to him for a good twenty minutes, so he must at least been a little bit open to some kind closeness.  “No offence, I guess you were okay before, but you were kind of, well, hard looking I guess.  You looked like you might cut anyone who got anywhere near you.” 

   “I was _thin,”_ Draco said, as if Harry was insulting him by beating around the bush.

   “You were skinny,” said Harry, emboldened by a flare of anger at the idea he was only saying this to be patronising.  “Your clothes hung off you, you looked like eating was beneath you.”

   “What?” sniffed Draco, a hint of anger equally evident in his voice.  “And it’s better to be chubby?  People don’t like chubby they like slim.  Eating your feelings isn’t attractive Potter.”

   Harry considered what he wanted to say for a moment or two, not wanting to stick his foot in it.  The truth was there was nothing wrong with the way Draco had looked before, he knew that, and he also knew a lot of people found slimness to be attractive.  He was just working from his personal preferences, but he felt like he wanted, needed, to explain how he felt. 

   “I know what it’s like to starve, Draco,” he began.

   The other boy stilled in his arms.  “Huh?” he said.  He probably hadn’t been expecting the conversation to turn like that. 

   “I know,” Harry sighed.  “What it’s like to be so hungry that it gives you cramps, that it makes you cry.”

   Draco lifted his head and frowned at Harry, their faces mere inches apart.  His skin was looking more like its usual milky-paleness again.  “What are you talking about?” he asked, genuinely concerned.

   Harry chewed his lip, but only looked away briefly.  “My aunt and uncle would punish me all the time by locking me in my…room.”  He almost said cupboard, but that was a story for another day.  “They’d do that for days at a time during the holidays, and quite often they’d ‘forget’ to feed me.”

   Draco stared at him in confusion.  “Why would they do that?”

   Harry shrugged.  “They hated me,” he said.  “Mostly because I had magic.  That’s not the point though, the point is I don’t personally think there’s anything attractive about looking like you need a decent meal.  For me in particular, I hate it when I get too skinny.”  He poked his ribs to illustrate the point.

   Draco didn’t seem to have noticed that they were still hugging, either that, or (Harry hoped) he was finding it as reassuring as he was.  He just leaned back a little so he could look at Harry’s body, but he kept his arms holding onto his waist.  “But you’re the Saviour, the Chosen One,” Draco said with a small shake of his head.  “It doesn’t matter what you do, people will always love you.”

   Harry barked out a laugh.  “You want to bet on that?  You remember all that crap the Prophet published about me over the years, about being a liar and a fraud?”

   Draco rolled his eyes.  “That was before you stopped You-Know-Who, you’ll never have to worry about that again now you’re a hero.”  He dropped his eyes and sneered.  “I’m a villain and now all anyone has to do is just look at me to see that I’m greedy and selfish.”

   “I give the Prophet less than a year,” Harry told him stubbornly.  “Before they start writing drivel about me again.  They’ll get bored and want to find a new scandal.  And as for what people see when they look at you.”  He baulked, feeling a little embarrassed, but he figured _what the hell._   “I think they’ll see a boy that’s become a man.  They’ll see someone strong, someone new.”

   “They’ll see a failure,” Draco argued.

   “They’ll see someone who’s not given up the fight,” Harry shot back.

   They held each other’s fierce gazes for a moment, and then Draco swallowed, his Adam’s apple bobbing as he did.  “Is that what you see?” he asked.

   Harry paused a moment, then nodded, taking his bravery to a new level as he reached up with his free hand and carefully touched the side of Draco’s face, fingertips skimming over his cheek.  “I see someone who has been burnt by people he trusted, and I think he’ll work doubly hard to make sure that never happens again.  I see someone who’s known great cruelty, and now will go out of his way to be kind and fair.”

   Draco didn’t move under his touch, he just remained looking up at him from within his arms, and Harry’s heart stuttered.  He was starting to admit that he’d perhaps wanted to touch Draco for an awfully long time, and now he finally was, it was indescribable. 

   “I think you’re seeing what you want to see,” Draco said almost inaudibly, his eyes no longer red but widening in trepidation.  “But…it’s sort of nice that you want to see it at all.”

   Harry pursed his lips before giving him a little smile.  “It is what I see in you,” he said.  “Maybe someday I’ll convince you to see it too, but I’m not going to push.” 

   Draco’s eyes dropped.  “I’m not worth the effort Potter,” he said quietly.

   Harry moved his fingers to tip Draco’s chin up to look at him again.  “Harry,” he prompted gently. 

   “Harry?” said Draco faintly, like it was an entirely foreign concept.

   He nodded.  “And how about letting me be the judge of what I think is worth the effort?”

   “Why?”  Draco said after a time.  He was still enveloped in Harry’s embrace, and hadn’t shaken away the fingers resting tentatively against his jaw.  “Why would you think I’m worth it, after everything I’ve done, and the way I look now?”

   Harry’s hand slid down to caress the back of his neck.  “I know the things you’ve done, I haven’t forgotten,” he said truthfully.  They were not going to just sweep seven years of animosity under the rug with one heart-to-heart after all.  “And I think, maybe, I’d like to talk about that more.  I think there’s a lot that we have to say to each other, and it might not all be pleasant, in fact some of it might be awful.  But I’m not afraid.”

   Draco’s eyes filled with tears again.  “I am,” he admitted.

   “Then I’ll help you,” Harry assured him, letting another small smile creep onto his lips.  “And as for how you look…”  He actually managed a fully-fledged grin at that.  “I’m really surprised you haven’t noticed, but it’s been hard for me to keep my eyes off you since we came back after Christmas.”

   Draco’s eyes got impossibly wider at that.  “What?” he said dumbly.  Harry responded by squeezing the hand that was wrapped around his back, feeling the pump flesh that cushioned his once bony hip. 

   “I’ve been thinking that you looked like you would give lovely hugs,” he said, wriggling a little to prove his point.  “Turns out I was right.”  Draco looked down at them, as if only just noticing that they were snuggled up together, and had been for quite some time.

   “Oh,” he said.

   “I love the way you look now,” Harry carried on, daring to rest their foreheads together.  “You look soft and warm and comfortable and not any of the things that made you so hard and angry before.  You look like someone I want to be around, someone I’d be proud of.”

   Draco whimpered, and it was all Harry needed to wrap both arms around him again, pulling them flush together.  “I’m so sorry Harry,” Draco whined, their temples rubbing against one another.  “I’m sorry for everything.”

   “It’s okay,” Harry promised, rubbing his back and rocking them slightly.  He was feeling overwhelmed and slightly choked himself.  “We’ll figure it out, together.  If that’s what you want?”

   Draco’s answering nod was all the push Harry needed to draw back and, without pause for thought, press his lips to Draco’s. 

   He seemed to startle them both.  They pulled apart and looked at each other, and Harry had a good second or two to truly panic.  He’d kissed a boy, he’d kissed _Draco?_   But they were still wound around each other, soft and warm despite the harshness of the kitchen floor, and Harry couldn’t bring himself to regret it, even if everything they had just achieved fell apart.

   It did not, however, fall apart.  Because although he still looked wobbly, Draco suddenly had a fresh flicker of fire behind his eyes, and within that second of so of doubt, Harry felt something new burst into life between them.  The hands that had been resting on Harry’s clothes seized him tight, and within the blink of an eye they were yanked once more together, lips hungrily searching for their counterparts. 

   Harry’s hands drifted luxuriously through Draco’s hair and across his broad back as their mouths fused into the searing hot kiss.  Like the rest of him, Draco’s lips were wonderfully soft and pliant under Harry’s, opening in a natural rhythm to allow Harry’s tongue to find his own. 

   Harry found himself whimpering, desperate for this new sensation to never end, but eventually they had to surface for air, panting down lungfuls, eyes closed, foreheads resting against one another like anchors in a storm.  “Are you okay?” Harry asked hesitantly. 

   Draco nodded.  “A little shocked,” he admitted after a moment or two.  “But, uh, yeah, I think I’m good.”

   “I don’t want to put any pressure on you,” he fretted.

   “Harry,” said Draco with determination.  “I’m good.”

   He looked into his eyes, sparkling silver from the tears, trying to organise the tumult of thoughts whirling around his head.  “I think,” he stammered, still completely stunned.  “I think I’m good too?”

   It seemed abruptly that he was now the unsure one, but Draco drew him back in, kissing him unhurriedly, tracing his fingers along his jaw.  Harry was suddenly very glad he’d shaved that morning. 

   _This is insane, he must be crazy!_   And yet, Harry couldn’t find any reason to stop.  He wanted to be as close to Draco as possible, he wanted to protect him and help people see him the way he’d come to see him over the past few months.  He felt it so fiercely it was like dynamite in his chest.  “I don’t really know what this is,” he breathed between kisses. 

   Draco considered him, his fingers now carding through Harry’s hair, much thicker and courser than his own.  “I don’t know what this is either,” he said.  “Does it have to be anything?”

   Harry bit his lip.  Whatever this new and exciting thing was, he wanted it to keep happening, of that much he was sure.  He wanted to call Draco his own, and he wanted to be Draco’s just as badly.  He didn’t necessarily want to name that thing just yet though.  “We can just…be,” he said with a hint of hope in his voice.  “Take things slowly, very slowly.  But, um, together?”

   Draco smiled.  It was still cautious, but it was genuine.  “Together sounds really nice,” he said. 

   They sat there a little longer, heads resting against one another, until Harry felt a tug on his t-shirt.  He glanced down to see the house-elf Dinella standing anxiously by his hip.  Her eyes darted between the two entangled young men.  “It Draco Malfoy feeling better now,” she asked with a worried squeak.  “Did Harry Potter help?”

   Harry glanced at Draco, and was met with a bashful smile that all but melted his heart.  “Um, yes,” Draco said quietly.  “Harry helped a lot, Dinella.  Thank you for bringing him to me.”

   Dinella looked like she might burst into tears.  “Oh wonderful, wonderful news!” she gushed, dancing on her toes and bunching her fists.  “Can Dinella get Draco Malfoy some cake now, or tea perhaps?  Or sandwiches, fruit tarts, jam scones?  Anything Draco Malfoy wants.  What can she do to help!”

   Draco smiled fondly down at the elf, and Harry couldn’t help but rub his back again.  This was the side of him he’d started to see, the side he wanted to show off to the world.  In time, he hoped his snark and his confidence would come back, but until then Harry was happy with a little bit of compassion. 

   “I don’t think I could eat anything right now,” Draco apologised.  “But thank you for offering.”

   “What _do_ you want?” Harry murmured into his neck, determined to give him anything he needed.  Draco sighed and flopped back against him. 

   “Tired,” he sighed.  “Bed sounds good.”

   Harry laughed.  “Getting off this cold floor might help too,” he suggested, and Draco chuckled guiltily. 

   “Urgh,” he groaned.  “I don’t really fancy all those stairs though,” he admitted. 

   Dinella tugged on Harry’s jeans this time to get his attention.  “Excuse me,” she said.  “But if Draco Malfoy is permitting, Dinella would like to take him and Harry Potter wherever they want to go?”

   “You’d apparate us?” Harry asked and she nodded.  He found himself immensely grateful in that moment to both elf magic as well as elf kindness. 

   “Where would the masters like to go?”

   Harry raised his eyebrows at Draco, who nodded in agreement.  “Home?” he asked.

   Home.  That sounded nice.  He and Draco were going to go _home_ together.  “The Eighth Year boys’ corridor?” Harry asked the little elf, and she nodded so hard her ears slapped her face. 

   “We can be leaving as soon as Harry Potter and Draco Malfoy are ready,” she informed them. 

   Harry hoped that, if they were lucky, they could arrive in the corridor and not be seen, thus preserving their little bubble of reality for a while longer.  He didn’t want to have to defend being seen holding hands with Draco (because there was no way he was letting go of him any time soon), in fact he didn’t want to have to explain anything, not even to his friends.  Not yet.  He just wanted them to ‘be’ for a little while, and start figuring out how they fit together. 

   So Dinella’s offer to apparate them when they were unable to do so themselves was extremely welcoming.  But it wasn’t fool-proof, and if anyone was going to walk by as they appeared in the hallway, he figured it might be better if they weren’t going to be sprawled on the floor.

   “Perhaps we should stand?” Harry suggested, and Draco raised no objection.

   Harry helped him to his feet, thrilled by the realisation that he was allowed to touch Draco’s body, to support and comfort him as they shakily got up.  Draco did seem quite unstable still though, so Harry belayed holding his hand and just slipped his arm around his waist, pulling their bodies together and holding him tightly.  “Got you,” he whispered. 

   Draco nodded reverently in response. 

   Little Dinella raised her hands up and strained on her tip-toes.  Harry and Draco both leaned down to offer her a finger each to take, and in a whir of motion and flash of light they were suddenly stood in the familiar set-up of the boys’ shared corridor, just off the Eighth Year common room.  Mercifully, there was no one else around.

   “Thank you,” Harry told Dinella. 

   “If the masters are needing anything else,” she told them sternly.  “They is to just be calling Dinella’s name, and she will come to take care of them.  Understood?”

   “Perfectly,” Draco said with a faint but bemused grin.  “Thank you.”

   She was gone again with a crack, leaving the two of them alone. 

   Harry was sure they wouldn’t stay alone for long though, as he could hear voices drifting along from the common room not fifteen feet away, but he realised with relief and surprise that they were already standing outside his door.  Whether Dinella had known that when she’d dropped them off, or if it was just luck, he didn’t know or really care.  They were there now, and that was all that mattered. 

   He and Draco looked on as he twisted the handle and let the door fall open.  That was another thing he absolutely loved about being an Eighth Year, he suddenly decided.  Private bedrooms. 

   He turned to see Draco chewing his lip, and gave his waist a squeeze.  “Stay with me?” he asked, looking up as silvery-grey eyes turned to meet his gaze.  “We don’t have to do, um, you know,” he said, suddenly flustered at even having to try and articulate what he _didn’t_ want to do just yet.  “Anything,” he finished lamely, hoping Draco understood.  “I just, uh-”

   “I’d love to stay,” Draco interrupted quietly, so quietly Harry almost missed it. 

   “Really?” he asked dumbly, but Draco just nodded.

   Not wanting to risk any more time hovering in the corridor, Harry steered them both into his room, kicked the door shut and locked it. 

   There was still a slight violet hue to the sky outside the window, so it couldn’t be that late, but Harry felt wrung out and exhausted.  “Sleep?” he suggested, and was met with another nod.

   Ordinarily he’d at least brush his teeth before crawling into bed, but he didn’t want to risk spooking Draco and frightening him off.  He could always fire off a quick anti-morning-breath charm later if necessary. 

   Instead, he unwound himself from Draco, and took both his hands in his.  He then walked slowly backwards, until they were beside Harry’s double bed, still made from that morning and looking like the most comfortable place in the whole world.  

   “Can I take this off?” Harry asked gently, slipping his hands around the bottom edge of Draco’s hoodie, rubbing his thumbs against the elasticated hem.  Draco inhaled sharply as his eyes darted to look down, his whole body becoming tense.  Harry didn’t want to push him, but this was going to be their first night together, and he wanted it to be built on trust.  “I promise,” he said.  “We won’t do anything more than we already have.  I just want you to be comfy, I want us to be close.” 

   Draco though blinked rapidly, and Harry felt a lump rise in his throat as he realised he was fighting back tears again.  “You won’t like it,” Draco whispered.  “It’s not nice.”

   Harry stepped closer, and rested the side of his head on Draco’s shoulder, easy to do now they were stood up with their height difference.  That way Draco could see his face even if he refused to look him in the eye.  Harry watched him carefully as he moved his right hand up, and tenderly ran it over the slight swell of Draco’s belly.  “I think it’s nice,” he said warmly.  “It feels nice.”

   That was too much for Draco though, and he screwed his eyes shut, a single tear falling down either side of his face. 

   “Come here,” Harry murmured, guiding him down to lie on the bed beside him, before wrapping both arms around him and entwining their legs together.  “Shh, it’s okay,” he said as they slowly rocked the smallest amount back and forth.  “I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have asked.”

   Draco shook his head though.  “I’m sorry,” he mumbled.  “I just…hate it, I don’t look like me anymore.”

   Harry managed to pull his glasses off without too much disruption, and chucked them onto the bedside cabinet so he could rest his head comfortably on the pillow.  Draco was so close to him now he didn’t need them anyway.  “I want you to be happy for _you,_ not because I want you to be,” Harry said slowly, arms once again around Draco’s back protectively, their bodies pressed close together.  “But I promise you, I _promise,_ you look so much better the way you are now.  To me anyway.  You look healthy, and if I can get you to smile a bit more, then you’ll be perfect.”

   Draco laughed, the kind that was nervous and almost protective, but it was still a laugh. 

   “There we go,” Harry said kindly, brushing the wayward tears away with the flat of his thumb. 

   “Harry,” Draco said, almost exasperated.  “You must know how hot you are?  How could you possibly…how can I compete…?”  He trailed off miserably.

   Harry wasn’t giving up though.  “You think I’m hot?” he teased.

   “Oh shut up,” Draco retorted, but there was that tentative laugh again. 

   “That’s a yes,” Harry told him smugly.  “And I think you’re hot.  So there’s no problem, is there?”

   “You can’t think this is hot,” Draco insisted stubbornly, leaning back and pinching his belly harshly.

   Harry pulled his hand away.  Not forcefully, but deliberately.  He then placed his own hand, palm down, on the bit Draco had hurt.  “I think it’s lovely,” he said.  “I think it’s part of you, and I, uh…”  _Courage Potter!_   “I think you’re lovely, all of you.”

   Draco didn’t say anything, he just looked at Harry’s hand on his tummy for a while, then placed his own over the top.  “Thank you,” he rasped, his voice tight, but no more tears fell. 

   They lay there a little while longer, until Harry felt Draco relaxing again into the mattress, and Harry risked leaning over for another slow kiss, his hand still firmly pressed against Draco’s warm stomach. 

   “How do you normally sleep?” he asked after a time.  “What do you wear?”

   Draco debated with himself for a while, not meeting Harry’s eye.  “Boxers and t-shirt,” he admitted eventually. 

   “Me too,” Harry assured him, finally removing his hand to sweep Draco’s hair from where it had fallen into his face.  “Look, it’s dark now.”  And it was, the sun had completely stet.  “And I really want you to be comfortable here.  How about I turn my back whilst you change?”

   Draco took a shaky breath, and held it a moment.  “No,” he blurted, perhaps before he could change his mind.  “It’s okay, if you wanted…if you wanted to…”  He was stammering, but the way he pulled at the hem of his hoodie again Harry got the idea.

   “Come here,” he murmured.  He helped Draco sit on the edge of the bed, and then, very carefully slipped his hands underneath the bottom of the jumper.  He held Draco’s eye contact as he slowly rolled the thick cotton up, and Draco obediently raised his arms to let Harry pull it deftly over his head. 

   Underneath he wore a well fitted t-shirt, but Harry could still see the outline of his body, and just like he though, it looked like the kind of body he wanted to spend the whole night wrapped up against. 

   Now they were both of them clad in jeans, t-shirts and shoes.  Harry dropped the hoodie to the floor, and tentatively rested his hand on Draco’s shoulder.  “You’re gorgeous,” he couldn’t help but say.

   Even in the faint moonlight, he felt like he could see Draco’s blush spreading over his cheeks.  He didn’t tell him to shut up though, so Harry counted that as progress, but he did stare pointedly at the Dark Mark tattoo now visible on his left forearm.  So Harry let his hand slide down his arm, caressing the skin as he went, before coming to rest over the blemish.

   It was a black, ugly thing, Harry couldn’t deny it.  But he wasn’t afraid of it, no more than he had been of saying Voldemort’s name.  It reminded them of their difficult history, of things that would probably still give them both nightmares for years to come, but Harry had no wish to erase that.  Their past was hard and at times brutal, but it had made them who they were, and had brought them to this moment.  He wasn’t going to ignore it, but he would help Draco as much as he could to come to terms with it, of that he was sure.

   “All of you,” he added with determination.  _“All_ of you is gorgeous.” 

   Draco’s lip trembled, so Harry pulled him close again.  “I’m sorry,” Draco apologised shakily into Harry’s neck.  “I’d get rid of it if I could.”

   But Harry shook his head.  “It doesn’t bother me,” he said quickly.  “What bothers me is the way you look at it, but that’s something I can try and help with.”

   Draco breathed in and out for a while against him.  “How?” he asked tentatively.

   Harry had to laugh a little.  “No idea,” he admitted.  “But you look at it like it’s a constant reminder of…I don’t know.”  He suddenly didn’t want to put words in Draco’s mouth.

   “Of how I failed,” he supplied ruefully for him.  “Of how I let myself get tricked into following a maniac.”

   Harry rubbed his fingers against the skin of his wrist, surprised he couldn’t really feel any texture under the tattoo.  “Maybe it’s a reminder of what you survived, how you did the right thing in the end?”

   Draco sighed.  “You are such a bloody sap,” he grumbled, but Harry sensed he’d made some headway. 

   “Come here,” he urged.  He stood, bringing Draco to his feet as well, and swallowed his own nerves as he reached down and slowly undid Draco’s belt buckle.  Draco didn’t move or say anything, he just watched Harry work, sliding the leather out from the denim loops. He then carefully got to work on the button and zip, searching Draco’s face for any sign of distress, but he was breathing steadily in and out, calmer than he’d been for most of their time together that day. 

   Harry eased his fingers between the jeans and Draco’s underwear, not wanting to pull on anything he’d promised not to, and inched the jeans down to the floor.  Draco let him unlace his trainers, and then he was standing in nothing but his boxers and shirt.

   The t-shirt rested on the slight curve of his belly, and Harry longed to run his hand along that swell of skin just above the elastic band of the boxers.  But he needed to get on equal footing with Draco first, so he hastily kicked off his shoes, not caring where they landed.

   Draco surprised him though by stepping forward and raising trembling fingers to the button of Harry’s own jeans.  Harry stilled immediately, heart leaping in his chest at Draco’s boldness.  Something flared in his stomach, a sensation that fizzed up and down his spine as Draco carefully lowered Harry’s fly.  He had no idea it felt like this to have someone else take your clothes off, the level of trust and intimacy that was involved, it was electric.  He wondered idly if they could possibly do this every night. 

   Every night.  He had no doubt in his mind that they would be doing this as often as possible, that now he had Draco he didn’t ever want to let him go, and the realisation of this combined with Draco’s touch was enough to give him a head rush. 

   Draco’s fingers were long and cool as they eased Harry’s trousers down and helped him to step out of the legs.  When he stood again he was trembling all over, but he was finally able to look up again and meet Harry’s eye with the barest hint of a smile. 

   Harry slid his hands up his arms, feeling the goose bumps before he reached the cotton of his sleeves, and pulled him into another embrace.  _I’m proud of you,_ he tired to say without words.  _That was incredible._

   The covers were stripped back, and Harry slipped into bed for the first time with somebody else.  Draco followed him naturally, letting Harry spoon against him as he lay on his back.  They snuggled down under the duvet, and Harry’s head found itself most comfortably tucked into the hollow below Draco’s shoulder.  Draco’s arm came over and rested on the curve of Harry’s hip, and he couldn’t help but sigh in deep contentment. 

   He’d had no idea this was where his day would take him when he’d run into Draco in the library earlier, in fact he’d never imagined any day would ever lead him into a night cuddled up against someone he used to hate, but was now inordinately fond of.  Draco felt just perfect under him, his firm body weighing down his mattress pleasantly beside him. 

   As he fell into the sway of sleep, he gently rubbed Draco’s tummy, and breathed in his distinctive scent.  They had a long way to go, he was sure, but the sense of rightness he felt in that moment couldn’t be denied.  He was happy, and he hoped one day soon, Draco could say the same.

   What more could he really ask for? 

 

End

 

 

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you for reading, please review! To discover more of my writing, visit www.helenjuliet.com


End file.
